


you don't get that kind of lifeline

by monarchs



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Deposition, Slice of Life, confusing feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchs/pseuds/monarchs
Summary: Mark's employees probably expected him to break down and cry when the news came up that Eduardo gave up his citizenship. But he didn't.He booked a flight to Singapore instead.





	you don't get that kind of lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a part 1 fill for this [prompt](https://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/10450.html?thread=20651986#t20651986); _Eduardo renounces his US citizenship right before Mark's birthday. Mark takes it to heart, because he's still had hope or something okay stop judging him. It's just business for Wardo ("smart business, Mark, something you didn't think I was capable of.") and that pisses Mark off, obviously. Dirty, hard fucking ensues. On his birthday._
> 
> (I don't think I did the prompt justice) (Also, this is a fill for a Fight Night challenge over at [this landcomm](https://lands-of-magic.dreamwidth.org/)). 
> 
> A big thank you to Allie for a beta read (and really kind words about this fic), and to Elizabeth for letting me complain to her about the woes of writing.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is NOT about the real-life Mark and Eduardo (at ALL), only their characters in the movie The Social Network. I don't make money from this.
> 
> Vietnamese translation by Furin over [here](https://bit.ly/2LvtmGV) !

**05/11/2012 PDT**

Mark's assistant Julie tilted her screen when he passed her by. It was the uneasy ruffle of her hair, the way her shoulders were too tense for a Friday morning that gave something away, made him glance back at her questionably. She leaned on a side, shoulder blocking the monitor, and ruffled her hair again. 

Elegantly subtle.

Mark turned away, checking his phone as he walked on. His lockscreen was empty even though it had been several hours now since the article got published.

 

No one had to tell him, so no one told him. To be fair, everyone knew he was going to find out eventually. If he didn't find out today, he'd find out tomorrow. It was only a matter of time. 

And he'd seen it this morning, like everyone else did, toothbrush in his mouth and pants still on the floor. He didn't live under a rock. Only under a seven-million-dollar roof, and under a laptop, a window to the world. 

It didn't take too long for everyone to catch on that _he_ knew too. Maybe his pale and lifeless expression gave it away. Not that he wasn't pale and almost lifeless to begin with, but he was more self-conscious about his face today, when he found it staring back at him in the washroom mirror. Pale with repressed anger. Eyes a shade of lifeless blue.

The interns stole glances at him, stepped out of his path yards ahead, like he was going to bulldozer them over, like he was the Hulk or something, except green wasn't exactly the colour of anger, wasn't exactly the colour he was feeling.

Dustin gave him sympathetic looks and didn't say anything even though he did try, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly.

Chris had passed Mark, holding a phone against his cheek, and he gave him a concerned look, a tacit _you okay?_ , an apologetic wince as he continued arguing with whoever was on the other end. Sean, who walked in late, showed a smile that was a little tight, a little forced, like he was trying hard to ignore what Mark might or might not be feeling, but having a hard time doing so. 

 

Mark wasn't sure if the news was supposed to hurt or anger him. A little bit of both, a little bit of neither.

He coded the whole day without much of a break, dismissed lunch and Chris and Dustin and Sean by pretending he couldn't hear their knocks on his office door, or their words of concern coming through his phone.

This was his problem, he thought resolutely. No one else's.

And _if_ he chose to ignore it, then it was also his choice, and nobody else's.

 

 

**05/12/2012 PDT – 05/13/2012 SGT**

Except he didn't choose to ignore it.

After five articles on the subject, a good two hundred comments from people who had no business caring about why Eduardo had given his citizenship up, a can of Red Bulls, and a pack of Red Vines, Mark opened an airlines tab and booked direct flight tickets to Changi Airport, Singapore. 

The long flight couldn't honestly have felt longer. When Mark stepped off the plane and was hit by ninety degrees of sheer humid heat and the insurmountable urge to sleep for three days straight, he got so cranky he couldn't stop imagining what it would feel like to be able to crack the necks of the airport people with just sheer will alone.

 

**05/13/2012 SGT**

Eduardo wasn't back yet. It figured. He was probably still doing some legwork back in the States. Mark shrugged at the closed door of Eduardo's apartment, then felt stupid doing so.

It felt strange, being here alone in the middle of a foreign land. One with no gum and lots of night lights and people speaking three languages in a single sentence. Mark googled 'shit to do in Singapore', hoped that Eduardo would appear by the time he read all the results on the first page. It didn't take too long before he realised he might as well count to infinity, and back. 

Mark slid to the floor, his back against the door, his eyelids half-mast, his brain threatening to shut down. Killing time fighting a losing battle against jetlag suddenly sounded like a good idea. 

(It wasn't). 

In between restless naps, he would stare hard at the passing neighbours, spiting them wordlessly for not being Eduardo. Said neighbours, realising that he was like some hostile hobo camping at the foot of a door, said stuff under their breaths, like, "is he siao or what" and made sure not to make eye contact with him again before disappearing into their respective apartments. A wise choice, he projected at the closed doors.

Two or three shallow naps later, Mark woke up with a jolt, a little disoriented and unsure how he'd gotten from his office to this murky hallway. But then he started remembering, in succession, bits and pieces of the articles he'd read over and over the past few days. From his desk, to the ride to the airport, on the plane, all the way here. 

'Citizenship', 'renunciation', 'Eduardo Saverin', 'co-founder of—', 'May 11 2012'.

He checked his phone, the screen lighting up too bright it hurt. The corridor lights had denied Mark's presence, switched off maybe an hour ago. He ignored the messages, ignored the emails, the notifications, only looked at the time. And then the date, and then back at time.

In two minutes, it was going to be midnight. 

In one minute, it was going to be his birthday.

 

What was he even doing here? Mark wondered idly. 

The whole idea of flying out all the way to Singapore was stupid. Immature, in fact. Undeniably melodramatic too, and he wasn't really one for drama.

_What was he doing here?_

He was angry. Maybe not in its strictest sense, but there was no doubt of it now, right? Why else would he be there? Why else did he fly across the globe?

But it wasn't exactly anger about the renunciation. It wasn't even about Eduardo moving to Singapore. Not really. This place was closer than, say, _Australia_ or Mars or what have you. And there were direct flights available, it wasn't exactly out of reach, had Mark wanted to make a move.

He _wanted_ to make a move, but he didn't know how, hadn't even known it was his turn.

Like a game of chess Mark had completely overlooked for years. One where Eduardo kept making his moves, one where Mark kept letting his timer run dry. And Eduardo had played against Mark's silence, this entire time.

 

Mark was never able to get rid of the sinking feeling he'd had ever since Eduardo smashed his laptop, that fateful day at the office. It had only doubled later on at the depositions when Eduardo said _I was your only friend_. Tripled later on when they settled and Eduardo wouldn't even look him in the eye.

And then Eduardo moved to Singapore. And then Eduardo renounced his citizenship.

All Eduardo's moves. One after the other. 

 

So here Mark was.

 

(Sometimes Mark would think that there wasn't much he could do. Mark had hurt Eduardo, and Eduardo had every right to hurt him back, hurt him even more, taunt him to play this game of revenge-recursion, kickstart this endless circle of pain.

But somehow. Somehow this didn't feel like just pure revenge, or sheer spite. It felt like something else, something more. 

And Mark wanted to know what that something more was. 

Or at least, wanted to know for sure.)

 

**05/14/2012 SGT**

Eduardo stepped out from the elevator with a carry-on luggage stuttering behind him. 

It took him a few more steps down the hall before he realised what was camping in front of his door. When he did, his eyes dilated, almost cartoon-ishly, before his expression turned bitter and cold.

Mark stood up immediately. They stayed still and quiet for a bit, like the sixth ice age had just overcome them.

"I take it you took it quite personally," Eduardo said, finally, after an incredulous huff. He patted his pockets, looking for his keys. 

"I don't see how else to take it," Mark replied, flat, but also a little tired, a little testy.

"Not everything's about you, Mark. Jesus," Eduardo said, his words laced with exhaustion and a hint of impatience. Or more than just a hint of impatience. "Do you know how tedious it is to file taxes abroad?" He scoffed, "who am I kidding. Of course not. You probably don't even do your own taxes." He found his keys and pushed past Mark to get to his door. "I'm not inviting you in, so go fuck yourself or a computer or Sean or whatever. I've had a long day. God, I really shouldn't have to see your face."

"It's not about the taxes," Mark said, stubbornly. Quietly. He wasn't sure if he was defending Eduardo from the anonymous comments on the article or accusing Eduardo for something else. He watched Eduardo lower his head in mock defeat. His hair was a little fluffier than the last time Mark had seen him, a few years ago at a shareholder's meeting. The gel was evidently worn from a long day. Eduardo turned to look at him again, his back against the door.

"I hate to break it to you, but it's 2012 and I have learned, albeit the hard way, how to make smart decisions," he retorted. His eyes were dark, hard, cold. "Some people grow. They don't waste time believing that the world still orbits around them."

Mark bit the inside of his cheek. "The world orbits around a massive ball of hot gas since the beginning of time. That's kindergarten science, Wardo."

Eduardo's face twisted into an angry grimace. He surged forward and grabbed Mark by the collar. Mark held his breath and tried to hold his ground. He glared as hard as he could, showed that he wasn't intimidated even though deep down, he trembled a little, felt the twist of his guts telling him that this wasn't safe. 

(This wasn't Wardo, this wasn't sweet caring overbearing pushover Eduardo).

(Maybe that had never been Eduardo). 

Eduardo's eyes glazed dangerously, like he could snap Mark's neck if he so wished. He leaned forward, crowded Mark's personal space, and said, in an uncharacteristically harsh whisper: "And I'm certainly not arguing with a kindergarten child," he shot Mark a dirty look before adding, "and don't you fucking call me that anymore. You've long lost that right."

Mark swallowed, dry. He grabbed at Eduardo's wrists, his grip firm, tight, maybe bruising, anything but gentle, and Eduardo's eyes bore into his even harder. Mark sneered. "I apologize for offending you, _Saverin_ ," he said. "Force of habit. I wasn't aware you were so fond of your father's name now."

Not to Mark's surprise, Eduardo shoved him off hard, pushed him to the opposing wall, pinned him there with his body, knocked the breath out of Mark's lungs. Mark coughed, though he was choking more from the fierce look in Eduardo's eyes than the arm that was pushing mercilessly at his chest. 

The lights down the hall flickered on, alerted by the movement of air. Mark took a second before pushing Eduardo back, giving himself some space. He wondered offhandedly if Eduardo had wanted to punch Mark. If he had always wanted to. 

"Pent up feelings, much?" Mark remarked as he rubbed at a sore spot on his chest, wincing at the pain, but not really caring much for it, just wanting to rub it in Eduardo's face.

Eduardo exhaled, looking more tired now than properly angry. "You've got to be kidding."

"Says the one who renounced his American citizenship because he couldn't find closure for something that should have been settled three years ago," Mark said. 

Eduardo breathed audibly and pinched the skin between his eyebrows, evidently trying to push down his anger. 

"If I said it was definitely to find closure on the vestiges of our once friendship, will you let this fucking go and leave me in peace?"

Mark pondered, then said, "no. I would ask you why you couldn't – still can't get over me."

Eduardo exhaled, turning away, getting back at his door and fumbling with the keys. "There's no winning with you, is there."

Mark tightened and loosened his jaw. He studied the back of Eduardo's head for a hot minute. "As far as I know, I've lost a long time ago."

"God, Mark—" Eduardo started.

A neighbour started banging on the walls, jolting the both of them. A quiet moment passed before Eduardo sighed heavily. He stepped into his apartment, leaving his door open. Mark looked at the wood flooring inside and the welcome mat, before taking hesitant steps to reach the doorway. He stayed put there, waiting to be invited in.

"Close the door behind you," Eduardo called from inside. 

 

 

**05/14/2012 SGT**

"What do you even want, Mark?" Eduardo had plopped down onto his couch. He hadn't bothered taking his shoes off, which was silly considering how hot it was. He lifted a hand to his forehead, shading his tired, _wired_ , expression.

"I want to hear it from you," Mark said. He lingered at the entrance hall, looking around the spacious flat. High ceilings, open kitchen, tall windows. Dark and cream palettes, clean surfaces, a few decorative paintings. Minimalistic and austerely modern. In many ways, very like Eduardo, and in many ways unlike him.

Eduardo opened an eye to study Mark. "Hear what?" Then he scoffed, realising what Mark might have meant. "That I'm not over you? That I'll never get over you?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "And what would that change?"

Mark bit his lower lip, approaching the couch area, and then shrugging, said, "nothing. Everything. Mostly everything."

Eduardo looked at Mark dangerously, almost threatening him not to come any closer. "I know you don't have the habit of putting yourself in other people's shoes, but have you ever thought about what betrayal feels like on the other end?"

Mark lowered his gaze. He knew what abandonment felt like. He knew what rejection felt like. He knew what it felt like to beg Eduardo to come out only to have Eduardo slip through his fingers like running sand. He also knew what loneliness felt like. How it stared back at him, made him feel as empty as a seashell. Mark was sure though, that if he mentioned any of it, Eduardo would say that all of that combined wouldn't even come close to the feelings of being betrayed.

"Quiet, finally?" Eduardo murmured, but not all that smug. Drained perhaps. 

Mark looked at Eduardo, and somehow recalled that fateful evening at Palo Alto. Eduardo with wet hair, asking, over and over, _what do you mean, get left behind?_ when Mark had told him _he needed him_.

Eduardo pushed back his hair.

Mark had always preferred Eduardo's hair like that, tussled, with little to no gel left, unruly, almost rebellious, almost bad boy, but not quite. Mark had touched it once – a long time ago, when they were still naive kids with big dreams and no concept of reality, back at Harvard. Back in the hubbub of a past long lost. Back when it was just a humble room in a suite at Kirkland, and him on the computer and Eduardo sat on the bed behind him, reading up on game theory.

Mark didn't respond but took a step forward, and then, slowly, quietly, made his way to Eduardo, only stopped when he was right in front of him, waited for Eduardo to look up at him. And he did, after a few long seconds. Begrudgingly.

"Say it," Mark murmured, softly. It wasn't a command. It was just a promise that if Eduardo did, things would change. For the better. Only for the better. Or maybe it was a plea. A plea for help, for a sign, for a prompt. Anything.

Eduardo cocked his head, and Mark knew that look. Eduardo was practically saying, _it's your fucking turn, you asshole. I've shown enough of my underside to you, don't you fucking dare ask me to hand you my feelings on a silver platter anymore. I'm tired of that game. I'm tired of you_.

Mark's jaw tightened, but he nodded. 

He closed his eyes, took a breath, gathered his wits, some courage. Lots of courage. It was odd, he never had problems admitting this before. He'd told Eduardo he needed him before, all the time, hadn't he? He pictured the algorithm on the window, let the memory soothe his nerves, tried not to recall that other time he said he needed Eduardo, that time in the yellow hallway of a Palo Alto house.

"I'm not over you. I still need you," Mark said, finally, his voice trembling lightly.

Eduardo's eyes softened. They stayed like that for a bit, listening to the clock ticking in the background, someone's music drifting through the window.

"More," Eduardo whispered.

Mark didn't know what he meant, so he stared. 

Eduardo tugged at his hand. "Tell me more, Mark. Why did you come today?"

"I—" Mark started, more confused. 

Eduardo pulled him closer, looking up at him. " _How_ do you need me?"

"As an American, for one," Mark replied, growing flustered at the proximity. He breathed a little harder. His mind was in turmoil, white noise spreading from the back of his thoughts, engulfing them one by one, taking over and leaving him with nothing.

Eduardo shook his head. "Try again."

Mark bit his lip, thinking fast, but not concluding with anything articulate or remotely convincing or even different. "I need you by my side."

"What for?"

"Wardo—"

"Eduardo."

Mark broke a little at that. He kept quiet, biting the inside of his cheek.

"What for?" Eduardo asked, eyes getting darker with growing disappointment.

"I don't know," Mark said, choked up. "I just want you. I miss you."

"Why?" Eduardo asked.

Mark knitted his eyebrows so hard it hurt. 

"Not kindergarten science, anymore, right?" Eduardo murmured, looking away, the darkness in his eyes dissipating.

Mark looked away, then back. "Sure." 

Eduardo smiled sadly. "I fucking hate you, you know." There wasn't really any bite to it.

Mark nodded. There wasn't much he could say to that. 

"You want to know why?"

"If you expect me to pummel you back with impertinent questions, I think I'll pass," Mark replied, earnestly.

Eduardo looked down and worried his lower lip before speaking. "Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how many turns I make, I end up lying on my bed spending sleepless nights, still thinking about how much I fucking want you. How I could never get over you. And how this would haunt me forever." He looked back up at Mark again, eyes filled with some kind of wistful determination.

Mark put his hands on top of Eduardo's shoulders. 

Eduardo exhaled steadily before continuing. "All I ever wanted was to hear you say you wanted me by your side, and that you made a mistake, that you wanted me back, and that you _loved_ me and that you wanted to run away—"

Mark cupped Eduardo's cheeks with trembling hands and leaned down. Placed a tentative kiss on Eduardo's lips.

Eduardo froze, didn't react for a while, but after a beat or two, closed his eyes and gave in and kissed back. Eagerly. Fervently. 

But then he mellowed. Kissed like he was going to regret it, kissed like he remembered who they were, what they were, where they were.

Nonetheless, he told Mark, through each press of their lips, that he meant every word, that he wanted to be by his side, that he'd made mistakes too, that he wanted Mark back, that he _loved_ him and wanted for them to run away. From their past. From everything. That he _wanted_ everything. With Mark. That he was only waiting for Mark's word.

Mark wrapped his arms around Eduardo tighter, tasting Eduardo's sighs and moans, tasting his what ifs and secret desires and silent confessions.

When they finally broke apart, Mark rested his forehead against Eduardo's. He was in his lap now, and Eduardo was holding him by the hips.

"I had a long day," Mark whispered, eyes closed.

"So have I," Eduardo responded. "You won't tell me what I want to hear?"

Mark shook his head slowly. "I don't know… I don't know what more…" He trailed off, his mind drawing a blank, his head starting to throb.

"You've told me you needed me before, and then you stabbed me in the back. I need some insurance. You do see that. Right?" Eduardo said, particularly softly, like he hadn't wanted to give Mark a hint at all, but had given in because he was never able to deprive Mark of anything.

Mark nodded, grateful. He was feeling warm, a little heady from Eduardo's cologne, the familiar smell of hotel shampoo, the proximity between them. He could almost fall asleep – it was that comfortable. Then after a beat, or maybe a whole decade of prolonged silence, he said, tilting his head, "you always felt like home, Wardo."

Eduardo winced, clearly pained. Mark hesitated, but then leaned forward and kissed his brow softly, and Eduardo sighed, pulling Mark closer, flush against his chest. They stayed that way for a bit, letting the anger in them simmer to ember.

 

 

 

"You can't say things like that," Eduardo murmured. 

Mark smiled sadly against Eduardo's skin. "You'll indulge me."

Eduardo buried his nose in the crook of Mark's neck. "I never learn."

Mark shushed him, gently, as gently as he possibly could, but adrenaline climbed up his throat, more corrosive than soothing, like it was trying to strangle him inside out. His voice came out a little choked, a little broken, "Yes, y-you'll learn. Just. I'm your only exception. _And you mine_. And I'll learn. I'll— Wardo, I'm," he exhaled deeply, gasped shallowly. 

Head spinning, memories flickering, heartbeats rising to a crescendo, images of Eduardo from Harvard to Palo Alto to depositions to the mugshots in the article. And then everything zipped into silence and Mark finally knew what he was supposed to say, what he had come here to say, and he didn't know if it was going to be worth anything anymore but he'd say it, he would, he was going to, he was going to do this, because, because it was— it was right. 

"I'm sorry." A whisper. Loud enough to shake the world.

Eduardo's shoulders sagged, and a beat later, he exhaled slowly, shakily.

Mark felt Eduardo smile a little. Felt it falter, felt him murmur _and you mine_ , felt a chuckle of incredulity, felt the start of tears, felt a choked _about time, fucking asshole_ against his skin.

Mark closed his eyes, bit his lower lip.

 

And prayed.

Standing in the centre of a storm, looking up. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _siao_ : crazy in hokkien (or Singlish).
> 
> Title from Noah Mac's The Soliloquy (basically my mood whenever I'm on this fic).
> 
> Also thank you if you're reading this? In 2019?  
> 


End file.
